“Who did? What yer talking about? Nobody wouldn’t want to eat you, Barney. If I wanted to get the flavour o’ ’bacco in my mouth I’d get it from a quid, and while a man could get at a bit o’ oak or an old shoe he wouldn’t think o’ trying to gnaw old Neb. What d’yer mean?”
“Then what d’yer talk o’ roasting us for in that there mad way, matey?”
“Oh, well, I don’t know as I meant it, messmate, but I’m that hungry just now as never was.”
“That will do,” I said, asserting my position as officer. “Silence, please.”
“All right, sir; all right,” growled Bob. “I’m ready. What yer going to do?”
“Try and feel about, Bob, to find where the hatch is. We must get some air somehow.”
“That’s right, sir. Come on, lads, and have a try. Who’s got knives?”
“I have,” said Barney. “Me too,” growled Dumlow. “That’s right, then; we may have to use ’em.”
Then a rustling sound began, and I knew that the men were feeling about overhead; while being able to think pretty clearly now, I came to the conclusion that we had been thrown down here, the hatches put on again, and the tarpaulin spread over them, and that was why it was so airless and hot.
I had an endorsement of my opinion a minute later, for Bob growled out—